


Seasons of Love

by winterwaters



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Babyfic, F/M, Fluff, POV Multiple, Pregnant Clarke, Slight Hurt/Comfort, Worried Bellamy, happy ever after, pregnancy fic, so much effing fluff, that's basically it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 13:56:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6522634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwaters/pseuds/winterwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A peek into Bellamy and Clarke’s life during each month of her pregnancy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seasons of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [enoughtotemptme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enoughtotemptme/gifts).



> A babyfic for my queen of pregnancy fics ;D happy birthday darling! <3 
> 
> Canon divergence, because idgaf.

**November**

She finds Bellamy in the mess hall. He’s got an arm slung over the back of his chair, legs stretched out before him. Though he’s listening to the other guards talk, his eyes wander over to the other tables as if mentally doing a head count every few minutes. Like he needs the reminder that they’re all here, all okay. For once.

Clarke waits until his eyes land on her. Bellamy straightens, curiosity overtaking his face. His eyes roam over her in question, and she nods. It's meant to be reassuring, but he tilts his head, quizzical. She resists a laugh—she should’ve known he wouldn’t let it go that easily.

She was planning to wait until they were alone, but some invisible cord pulls her hand to her stomach, her palm resting over the spot where she now knows someone the size of a peanut is residing. Bellamy’s eyes flash to the motion, then back to her face. Clarke can all but see his mind racing, trying to piece together the puzzle. Deliberately, she leaves her hand where it is, places the other one atop it, and offers a shaky smile.

Bellamy shoots out of his chair, knocking it over with a loud clang.

The mess hall goes quiet, everyone watching as he stands rooted to the spot in his astonishment. Only Clarke sees the growing delight in his eyes, the way it twists his mouth into a huge smile, breaking out in the form of a loud, joyful laugh from his mouth. He strides over and lifts her off her feet without a second thought.

The whole camp knows within the hour, and it’s entirely thanks to Bellamy. 

* * *

 

**December**

“No way,” Clarke stomps into their cabin, tossing her bag aside and shrugging off her heavy coat. Bellamy follows, a familiar look on his face. _”No,”_ she says again, setting her hands on her hips.

“Clarke,” he begins.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she cuts in. “I’m pregnant, Bellamy, not an invalid.”

“I never said you were. But you’re acting like everything’s the same as before. It’s _not,_ Clarke, not even a little bit.” His eyes soften. “You have to be careful.”

“I’m more than capable of helping out with the construction. It’s _my_ hospital, after all. And my body will tell me when it’s time to stop.”

“You can’t know that,” Bellamy protests. “Even Abby said unnecessary strain should be avoided as early as possible. She agrees with me.”

Clarke blinks in surprise. Sighing, he pulls off his coat and begins to get a fire going. “Since when do you and my mother agree on anything?” She asks finally.

He huffs. “When it comes to you, you’d be surprised.”

The flames sputter, barely alive. He mutters a few more curses and pokes at it vehemently while Clarke looks at the stiff line of his shoulders, thinks about the constant worry in his voice nowadays, the crease in his brow that accompanies his every expression.

Bellamy’s finally got the fire going when she comes to stand behind him, easing her fingers through his hair. A quiet hum of content escapes him. He leans back against her thighs, encouraging her on. Clarke scrapes her nails along his scalp, digs her thumbs into the knots in his shoulders, until Bellamy turns and presses his cheek to her stomach. She holds him close for several minutes, then kneels in front of him.

“You’re going to make yourself sick if you keep worrying like this,” she scolds lightly.

“Does that mean you’ll listen to me for once?” He asks. She returns his grin, but shakes her head. Bellamy draws a hand over his face. “God, I hope our kid doesn’t get your stubborn streak.”

“Mine?” She squeaks, poking him. “You are _so_ much worse. If our kid has even half of your willpower, we’re done for.”

Bellamy curls an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. _”Our_ kid,” he murmurs in amazement. “Clarke, we made a kid.”

Clarke smiles up at him, meeting his lips in a sweet kiss.

“Three weeks,” she says later, before they fall asleep. Bellamy raises his head, waiting. “Let me help out with the building for three more weeks, and then we’ll set some boundaries.”

He nuzzles her cheek, the breath leaving him in a grateful sigh. “Thank you.”

* * *

 

**January**

Bellamy hurries inside after Clarke, shaking snow from his hair. She turns to him with a grin, eyes alight, and he nearly takes a step back.

“You better not have another snowball hidden in there,” he warns.

She laughs, her cheeks still flushed pink and her nose a little red from the hours they spent lobbing snowballs at each other and their friends.

“None,” she promises, holding her hands up. “But that was _fun,_ wasn’t it?”

Her wonder matches his. Everyone had expected their first snowfall to be nothing but trouble. They’d spent days preparing. But then they’d woken to a world blanketed in white as far as the eye could see, and all practicality had been shoved aside in favor of enjoying this newfound thrill of Earth.

Bellamy peels off his jacket and his sweater as Clarke does the same, throwing their wet clothes in one corner. He stokes the fire as she continues to undress, listening to her talk about proper insulation in the cabins and the next trade meeting with _Trikru._ When he turns, she’s down to her bra and underwear, kicking her jeans aside with everything else. She’s still talking, but his brain can’t register anything except for the slight bump of her stomach that definitely wasn’t there a few days back.

Clarke comes closer, waving a hand in front of his face. “Hey. What is it? Are you—” She cuts off as he drops to his knees, a hand delicately caressing the small swell of her belly. He places a chaste kiss to her skin. She trembles, managing a weak “oh” as her hand cards through his hair.

When he looks up, she’s smiling brightly, a new kind of exhilaration in her eyes. He stands and carries her to their bed, laying her down gently and nuzzling soft kisses over the expanse of her stomach until she giggles and drags him up for a proper kiss, urging his weight atop her as they get lost in each other.

* * *

 

**February**

He’s deep in discussion with Miller when he feels her eyes on him. He finishes reminding his friend about the next supply run, then glances over his shoulder.

Clarke stands across camp, biting her lower lip. Her eyes rake over him in a way he knows all too well—except she rarely looks at him like that unless they’re alone. Bellamy glances around. Everyone seems caught up in their own tasks, oblivious to them. He looks back at Clarke. She still has her lower lip trapped between her teeth as she tilts her head towards the ship in question. When his eyebrows raise skyhigh, she grins, at once seductive and disarming.

Okay. So he’s not dreaming.

After she disappears inside, he waits a few minutes, then goes after her as casually as possible. Entering the ship, he realizes his mistake. He has no idea where she went. He has only a moment to swear when a strong hand closes around his wrist and tugs him into a room the size of a closet. Smiling, Clarke presses him against the door, arms linking around his neck as she kisses him deep and messy.

Bellamy barely has time to be delighted by the impromptu makeout session when she starts shoving at his jacket, breaking the kiss to mutter in irritation when it get stuck at his wrists. He laughs at her impatience, catches her mouth with his again, trying to coax the kiss into something tender, but she’s all fire and haste, nails raking his back until he shudders.

Then she takes off her shirt. She wiggles out of her pants next, while he stands there, dumbfounded.

When she pulls him close again, nipping at his jaw, he finds his voice. “So—we’re doing this, then? Here?”

“We’re doing this. Here.” Clarke mouths at his earlobe, hands working under his shirt. “Are you going to make me do all the work?”

~~~~~~~

Bellamy’s a little disheveled when he relieves David at his post, but the other man either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. Bellamy manages to keep the shit-eating grin off his face until David’s out of sight, and then he just leans back against the tree, looks to the sky, and laughs.

Clarke finds him later, a plate of dinner piled high with two servings for them to share, but soon she ends up in his lap, her mouth furiously working against his, and the food is long cold by the time they get to it.

The next few weeks are the same. Clarke is all wandering hands and mischievous smiles from the moment he wakes to the second he falls asleep, and even then she rouses him again in the middle of the night to start over. She finds him in between Council meetings, dragging him into that little closet again; pulls him along on afternoon trips only to spend them in a cave, breathlessly calling his name; slipping her hand under his shirt oh-so-innocently while they chat with others, until he all but hauls her back to their cabin.

Bellamy stops caring whether anyone else notices because she’s _pregnant_ and she loves him, and it’s the fucking _best._

* * *

 

**March**

By the time her eyes open, registering that the pained cries aren’t from her own dreams, Bellamy’s already slipped out of bed, scrambling around in the dark for proper clothes.

“Bellamy.”

“Go back to sleep,” he says roughly, but his voice shakes as much as his hands.

Clarke pads over to him, wrapping her arms around his torso and pressing her forehead between his shoulder blades. “Stop.”

“Clarke, you’re—”

“I said _stop,”_ she interrupts, a bit louder. “I’m still me. It’s still _us._ We face it together. We bear it together. Right?”

Bellamy releases a harsh sigh and turns in her arms, pressing their foreheads together. “Right,” he agrees.

“Good,” she kisses his palm, keeping a firm grip on his hand. “So let me change, and then we’ll go outside, okay?”

He nods and watches her pull on her boots and a light jacket, and they step out into the warm spring night. Clarke lets him take the lead. Sometimes he just needs to walk around camp, hear snores from the other cabins, check the sentries at their posts, and it’s okay. Other times they’ll go to the river, sit by the water’s edge until she doesn’t see charred bodies every time she closes her eyes.

Tonight Bellamy walks with a purpose, further than usual. She doesn’t mind. Since the last treaty, each clan’s boundaries have been clearly outlined, and they’ve stuck to them. No one wants another war. So she keeps a tight hold on Bellamy’s hand, noses his shoulder when she sees he’s purposely taking shorter steps so she can keep up.

Clarke doesn’t recognize where they are until he stops by a thick tree trunk and looks at her. She glances around, brow furrowed for a moment. Then she figures it out. The bunker isn’t far from here; the spot where they’d found that first stash of weapons, before Dax had come after them—

She looks back at Bellamy and squeezes his hand. They sit down side by side in silence, both remembering and marveling at everything that’s happened since that moment.

Eventually she turns to him, brushes curls from his brow and kisses his cheek. “I’m always going to need you, Bellamy.” She lays his hand overtop her stomach, lacing their fingers again. _”We_ are always going to need you.”

He looks from her face to her hand and back again, then finally nods, glassy-eyed. Clarke pulls his head to her shoulder, raking a hand over his curls until he stops shaking.

When they return to their cabin, he climbs into bed fully clothed and lays his head in her lap, arms wrapped tightly around her. She presses her cheek to his hair, holding him close as she begins to hum a soft melody. It’s a long time before his body relaxes, but she doesn’t stop.

In the morning, Clarke wakes to find Bellamy staring at her stomach, eyes wide.

“What?” She sits up, alarmed, until he breaks into a radiant smile.

Placing his hand atop hers, he guides it to rest over her stomach. His throat bobs. “You’re going to have so many aunts and uncles,” he continues, clearly resuming a story. “But your Aunt Octavia and Raven are going to be the most possessive, you know.” Clarke finds herself smiling. “Aunt O’s going to make you her little Grounder, and you’re going to—”

Clarke gasps when she feels the kick. She stares at Bellamy, who grins back in sheer wonder. They stay that way long into the morning, exclaiming over every little kick and movement, marveling at this tangible proof of life under their very hands.

* * *

 

**April**

It happens more quickly than either of them expect. One week Clarke’s walking around with just the slightest swell under her shirt, and in the next, Bellamy’s heart nearly stops because she’s resting her clipboard on her rounded stomach while she talks to Harper.

He’s walking Clarke into the medbay when Abby catches sight of them, and for a moment Clarke’s mother is completely speechless, countless emotions swimming in her eyes. Oblivious, Clarke leans up to kiss his cheek and remind him about the herbs she needs. He looks past her shoulder to meet Abby’s gaze, smiling faintly, and from then on they seem to have an understanding.

Bellamy becomes completely enamored by the site of Clarke waddling around camp with determination pinching her brow. She’s still bossier than ever — maybe even more so, now. But his heart simply expands every time he sees her standing with a hand protectively over her stomach, and usually when she turns around she finds him still in the same spot, grinning like a moron, but it only makes her smile back until he walks over and pulls her into his arms.

Soon Clarke can’t go anywhere without someone feeling the need to walk alongside her. People make up reason after reason to make sure she gets to her destination, regardless of whether it’s across camp or just the next cabin. And despite the glare she levels at Bellamy each time — as if it’s his fault — there’s no end in sight, and she knows it.

With each passing day, it becomes harder for her to run around, though she still tries. But the moment Bellamy gets her to sit, he sees the relief etched on her face and resolves to keep her in one spot as long as possible. The others catch on quickly enough, soon bringing their issues to Clarke instead of relying on her to come to them.

He soaks her ankles in water at night, massages her legs while she lays on their bed and reads another story out loud from the book propped on her stomach.

One evening he returns to find her balancing a plate on her stomach, her hands occupied with a needle and thread. She looks up and grins sheepishly.

“I don’t want my stitches to get rusty. But I’m also hungry all the time, so…”

He bursts into laughter and climbs onto the bed next to her, kissing her cheek with a loud smack before dropping a handful of extra berries onto her plate.

* * *

  

**May**

It takes some maneuvering, but Miller manages to distract Bellamy with endless questions and Abby delays Clarke in the medbay long enough for Kane, Raven, and Lincoln to carry their surprise gift across camp.

Neither of them have any idea until they step inside their cabin that night, unaware of the audience that’s eagerly followed them the whole way.

Clarke’s eyes fill with tears when she sees the huge crib, its dark oak polished to gleaming and placed right next to their bed. “Did you—”

“No,” Bellamy whispers, then turns around on instinct, finding three delighted faces beaming back. Clarke is still staring at the crib, open-mouthed, when he taps her arm and points to their friends.

Wordlessly, she grabs each of them in a forceful hug one after the other, then turns her face into Bellamy’s shirt while he stammers out grateful thanks, still not quite recovered from the shock himself.

Later, he corners each of them alone and offers proper words for their thoughtfulness. Raven, as expected, brushes him off with a light punch to the shoulder and a quip that he better get her those spare parts now. He merely receives a hug from Miller, while Kane grasps his hand and quietly says he’s proud of him.

Clarke brushes her fingers over the solid oak every night before crawling into bed, but on the fourth night she wakes with a cry that leaves him more terrified than ever.

“False—false labor,” she breathes, clutching his hand.

He wakes Abby anyways, because he needs to hear it from her.

“Clarke’s right,” she confirms, and the iron fist around his heart eases just a little. Then he looks at Clarke’s face, twisted in pain, and feels like he can’t breathe all over again.

“Can you give her anything? To make it easier?”

Abby looks at him helplessly. “We had medicines on the Ark that could help, but down here… I don’t know.”

Clarke exhales, sagging against him. “It’s okay. It’ll pass eventually.” She’s reassuring them as much as herself.

Bellamy holds her close and does anything he can to keep her as comfortable as possible, but he doesn’t sleep the rest of the night, wrecked by the thought of her having to endure that repeatedly. Octavia meets him the next morning, promising to find Nyko and get his advice. Abby asks Indra to speak to other clan healers who might hold the knowledge as well.

In the end, though, it’s Murphy who ends up at their door, a handful of leaves in his palm. “Grind it into her food,” he says without preamble.

Bellamy just stares, until Clarke waddles up beside him to ask what’s wrong. At the sight of Murphy, she blinks, confused. He thrusts the plant at her when it’s clear Bellamy can’t move.

“Emori said it’ll help with the pain,” he mutters.

Clarke is so overcome that she hugs him, and the distraught look on Murphy’s face makes Bellamy crack a grin and finally take the herbs carefully, shaking his hand in thanks.

* * *

 

  **J** **une**

Bellamy becomes more reluctant than ever to leave Clarke on her own. He’s heard from her and Abby about the possibility of premature births, and the thought of her having to go through it alone simply petrifies him.

But Clarke is insistent on him at least attending the morning Council meetings twice a week, fairly having to kick him out of bed at first.

“One of us has to be there. You know it’s necessary.”

He frowns. “I’ll send Monty—”

“It’s Miller’s day off from guard duty, don’t make Monty leave him!” Clarke scolds.

“Is Miller pregnant?” He shoots back. “When Miller’s pregnant, we’ll talk.”

“You—you’re so—” She fumes, struggling to sit up properly, but he’s already at her side, putting pillows behind her until she leans back with a sigh. “Just _go,_ Bell. It’s a couple hours. I’ll be fine.”

Bellamy’s opening his mouth to protest again when a knock sounds at the door. Lincoln stands outside with a basket in his hands.

“Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all, come in!” Clarke calls cheerily. Bellamy glares at her, then steps aside to let the other man in. “Bellamy was just leaving,” Clarke adds pointedly.

“Actually, I’m not—”

“He is.” Clarke waves Lincoln over. “What’ve you got there?”

Lincoln glances at Bellamy, who folds his arms and doesn’t move. “Nyko remembered you had some questions about the medical supply in our village. I thought maybe since you’re unable to travel, we could discuss them here. If that’s alright?”

Though the question is for Clarke, Lincoln keeps eyeing Bellamy, as if to say, _I’ll stay with her._

Bellamy looks between the two of them, then pulls on his jacket with a sigh. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

~~~~~~~~

When he returns, Clarke is listening attentively to Lincoln, pausing every now and then to scribble furiously in her notebook. She doesn’t look like she’s moved an inch, still wrapped in blankets and hair pulled into a messy ponytail, but she looks _happy,_ elated by the new knowledge.

It’s then that Bellamy figures out her earlier irritation wasn’t about getting him to go—but her hating having to stay behind. For all that she’s doing, carrying his child, she still feels stuck, unable to do much else. And he hasn’t been sharing much about the meetings lately, not like they used to. It’s not intentional on his part; he just didn’t want to add to her burden. But now he realizes it’s only making her hungry for something productive.

So when she tugs him onto the bed to show him her notes, chattering excitedly, he smiles over her head at Lincoln and mouths a grateful _thank you._

After that, Lincoln shows up twice a week, always with a new project for Clarke while Bellamy goes to the Council meetings. And when he returns, he relays the progress to her, explains the ideas and arguments that came up, and listens to her think out loud, remembers how fascinated he is by the way her mind works, how deeply in love he is with every single part of Clarke Griffin.

* * *

 

**July**

Sweat drips off his brow and into his eyes. It could be due to the peak summer heat. More likely it's because he’s just sprinted to the medbay in a panic.

Clarke’s whole body is covered in a sheen. She quakes and shudders on the cot, gripping his hand fiercely with every contraction. He brushes damp hair from her face, touches his lips to her forehead with his eyes closed and says a prayer to the universe, to allow them this one thing.

Abby is a force of nature, at once encouraging yet practical with her daughter while Jackson hurries around getting things ready. Kane’s at the entrance, trying not to get in the way. Raven makes no secret of it, rooted to the spot with her arms folded while Octavia paces back and forth, and Lincoln leans against the wall, deceptively calm, though his dark eyes don’t miss a thing. Eventually Abby shoos them out, raising her voice over their protests in a way that reminds Bellamy why she’s so good at being the adult when they need it.

To Clarke, she says in a softer voice, “It’s time.”

A familiar resilience overtakes Clarke’s features, her grip on Bellamy’s hand becoming impossibly tight. He doesn’t take his eyes off her for a moment, wishing he could somehow share in her effort in this moment, take away some of the pain like she’s done so often for him. He’s not sure when he starts talking, just that he needs her to know how much he loves her, how much he’s going to love their kid, how much he can’t wait for this part of their lives to start.

The sharp wail finally makes him tear his eyes away to find Abby smiling proudly, cradling the baby — _their_ baby — while Jackson performs all the requisite checks.

Clarke is already craning her neck to see. “Is she okay?”

“She’s perfect,” Bellamy whispers in awe.

“I’ll second that,” Jackson says with a grin. Abby stands and brings her over, setting her in Clarke’s waiting arms.

“Wow.” Clarke laughs and sighs at once, tracing her tiny cheeks. “Look at her, Bellamy.”

“I think you mean _dad,”_ Abby teases lightly.

“God. That’s scary.”

She pats his shoulder. “So, do we have a name yet?”

~~~~~~~

Nearly all of the delinquents are camped in the hallway when Bellamy steps outside. All he does is grin at O in relief, and a tangible sigh escapes every occupant around him. Octavia throws herself at him in a fierce hug, and he clings to her for an extra moment, letting out his own relieved sniff into her hair.

“So when do I get to see my niece?” She demands.

He chuckles, ruffling her hair. “Soon.”

“Please tell me you didn’t give her some weird old Greek name.” That’s Raven, trying to be casual about wiping tears from the corner of her eyes.

“Appolonia,” he says, just to fuck with her.

Her jaw drops. “You did _not.”_

He just shrugs, until Octavia punches his shoulder. “Stop being a jerk! She was really scared.”

“We all were,” he says, then nods his head at the door. “Come on, Cassie’s waiting.”

Returning to Clarke with the others in tow, Bellamy sits on the edge of the cot and kisses the top of Cassie’s head. “You have a lot of visitors,” he tells the newborn. “Remember I warned you about these two aunts—”

“Don’t listen to him,” Raven interjects, and he laughs, watching her eyes go wide over the baby.

While the others crowd around the cot, taking turns crooning over their daughter, Clarke looks up at Bellamy. Her smile is full of love. “We did it.”

“Yeah, now we just have to raise her.”

She winks and pulls him close for a kiss. “Piece of cake.”


End file.
